


Sekai no Hajimari

by Edlinklover



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: AU, Gen, Non-Canonical Character Death, Protective Siblings, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 15:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edlinklover/pseuds/Edlinklover
Summary: Every story has a beginning. When Fukase opened its eyes, it found that its story started in a world of fire.





	Sekai no Hajimari

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I wrote this story for my Spirit Fukase character from my ask and RP blogs about a year ago but I only showed it to a few people at the time. This is the first time since I was like, eleven that I've actually written and posted something this long so bear with me, I didn't really have a beta.
> 
> The ending of this story might be kinda similar to another fic of mine. If you notice it, it's okay to not point it out. Also, this Fukase's default pronouns are it/its in this fanfic. If you have an issue with it, please feel free to not read this!
> 
> Happy birthday Fukase, I thought it was only fitting to finally post this today!

    Maybe it’s because it awoke in a world of fire that it became fascinated with the color red.

    Red eyes, red hair; maybe it was the flames that dyed them that color.

    Fukase couldn’t recall when it stood up or when it even opened its eyes, only knowing that the world was falling apart around it in a wavering heat. Stunned, it took a step back.

   Feeling a lump beneath its heel, it snapped its attention towards the floor and stared.

    It had stepped on an arm. Despite that it couldn’t see the stranger’s face underneath that mop of hair, somehow, they struck it as familiar.

    Before it could bend down and turn them over, a beam from above collapsed with a shower of splinters and the whole world shook, snapping it to its senses. If it didn’t make a break for it, it could be trapped here.

    Glancing once more at the unconscious person, at how the flames had lashed at what it could see of their entire left side, it searched the walls for an escape.

    As soon as it had spotted something, it barely had time to register what it was. Its hands had already snatched up a chair.

    The window broke through with ease. The glass rained on the ground outside in shards. It didn’t hear the chair as it landed, the noise drowned out by the roar of burning wood.

    Climbing onto the windowsill, it leapt out into the freezing night air and stumbled to its feet the moment it had a chance.

    There was a commotion outside, people gathering a distance off and murmuring in worry as others desperately worked to drown out the fire, yelling orders and shouting as the flames protested.

    Fukase cared for none of that as it ran, its first gasps of real air sending its mind reeling.

    As it left the heat of the burning building behind, somewhere from within, it felt a part of itself die and be left behind with it.

 

    The first months were rough. They were filled with a mind-numbing cold that sunk into its bones, anchoring its every movement. It met a curious spirit who had been following it the night of the fire and showed it to an abandoned shack. All it remembered while it stayed there was being in a constant state of dreamless sleep, an escape from the never-ending cold. When the icy chill of winter finally melted away and it could step out for the first time, it saw flowers the color of scarlet, with spidering petals as thin as needles.

 

    Fukase understood from the start that it was abnormal, but from the harassment it received on the streets, it decided to hang around the shrines and temples. It didn’t feel particularly insulted, but the stones they threw made it difficult to walk anywhere.

    Japan, as it learned, wasn’t kind to those who stood out among the sea of dark-haired, dark-eyed individuals who crowded the markets at noon. It didn’t understand much about why it looked so different or how for that matter. Whenever it tried looking in a mirror, its reflection never showed, as if hiding from its own ugliness and, in its personal opinion, it found that quite rude. But from what it could gather, it was the left side of its face that frightened people. Sometimes, it’d run its fingers along its cheek, feeling how rough and bumpy it felt in comparison with its right and imagine how awful it must look.

    For a while, it lived without purpose, taking the offerings people left after they prayed and venturing around town only at night.

    Once in a while, spirits would sometimes talk to it then, as they never liked coming out when it was bright and noisy.

    Fukase could never do much more than listen, although if the spirits had a request to ask of it, it’d help them the best it could. For some reason whenever that happened, they stopped visiting.

    But there was one spirit who especially took a liking to it; a five year old little girl who had showed it to the shack on that night.

    Her name was Tsukuyomi Ai, one of the few names it would be able to recall decades later. Unlike most people who took it as the sign of an outsider, she liked Fukase’s curly red hair, standing on her tiptoes to see if she could reach it yet before having to float up to get there.  

    She always talked about her family, especially about her older brother Shouta. Fukase rarely had anything to say so it usually let her ramble on. It learned that the shack it had stayed in belonged to her father when he worked out on the field but it was okay to use it because he had a better job now and shouldn’t need it anymore.

    "But it's weird," she said, clutching her stuffed rabbit closer to her chest. "When you stopped sleeping, all those red spider lilies sprung up out of nowhere. My Dad said those weren't supposed to bloom until summer."

 

    She announced one day that she was going to take Fukase to see her brother.

    “Do you know where he is?” it asked.

    “Mm-hmm.” She gently pulled its arm.

    The lights in the houses and stores down the street had long since gone out and stars dotted the night sky they walked beneath. The breeze was warm and the humidity clung to Fukase’s skin as the pair walked, not that it minded much. Heat never bothered it.

    The graveyard was colder and more dismal, the change in temperature palpable. Some of the gravestones had half-rotted offerings visitors had forgotten to clean up while others had wilted flowers and remains of incense. Fukase caught sight of some familiar petals, dull red as if the death and sorrow hanging in the air had drained them of life. 

    “There.” Bouncing up and down, Ai ran in front of one of the graves. Fukase hadn’t been able to see it before in the dark but now it could vaguely see a shadowed figure leaning against the gravestone’s foundation.

    “Brother, wake up. I made a friend, do you wanna meet him?” She reached for his shoulder but yelped as her hand passed through.

    Frustrated, she balled her hands into little fists and tipped her weight from one foot to the other, her hat nearly falling off her head. “Shouta, he—y! Wake up!” The manjuu offering on the plate caught her eye.

    “I’m gonna eat your manjuu if you don’t wake up,” she warned and reached for it, but to no avail, she passed through it as well.

    Seeing her struggle, Fukase drew closer, picking up the manjuu and brushing away the dirt. It turned to her. “Can I eat this?”

    With a pout, she kicked at the ground; her lips were pressed in a straight line.

    “…W…who’s there?” The groggy voice came from the boy as he stirred from his sleep, his eyes opening and blinking blearily. As soon as Fukase came into his view however, they shot open and he scrambled to his feet. “Hey, you thief, did you take that!?”

    Ai paid no attention to her brother’s hostility towards her friend. Instead, her eyes widened as she gasped at how tall he’s gotten, tiptoeing to see if she could reach his height and whining that she’s sure her birthday’s passed already and since it had, why hadn’t she grown yet?

    Tuning her out, Fukase asked, “Take what?” Glancing to its hand, it remembered. “Oh, this?” It held up the manjuu. “I was asking Ai if I could have it. She didn’t answer so I was gonna put it back if she wanted it.” It turned it over, studying its underside. “But I don’t think she can eat it anyway."

    “Of course she wouldn’t answer you, stupid, she’s dead.”

    Ai flinched.

    “And it’s not about whether she can actually eat it or not, it’s about respecting the dead. Geez, didn’t anyone tell you anything?”

    “Probably,” Fukase said, “but I see it as a waste.”

    “You’re the worst,” the boy spat, snatching the manjuu from its unsuspecting hand and slamming it down on the offering plate, proceeding to slap his hands together in prayer. There’s an icy, “The nerve of some people,” said under his breath before he fell silent, the angry lines of his face smoothing out as the moments ticked along and his arms went slack.

    “What would you know about my sister,” he muttered. “You’ve never even met her.”

    Taking up the wooden bucket he had brought with him, the boy walked away, purposefully brushing past Fukase’s shoulder and disappearing into the night.

    When it looked back at Ai, there were silent tears tumbling down her cheeks.

   

    The next night, Ai didn’t show. Fukase didn’t think much of it, deciding to wander around town alone.

    It kicked at the rocks that came in its way, tracing their paths with its eyes until they stopped.

    Fukase paused, its gaze fixed on a stuffed animal a rock had run into on a deserted street, wedged between two buildings.

    It was Yan-chan, the stuffed rabbit Ai was so fond of.

    As soon as Fukase approached it, the world shifted and it stumbled. Everything wavered and twisted until it realized it no longer recognized the street it was on.

    When the world came back into focus, festival music blared loudly from somewhere a distance off, red lights flickering across the dark buildings lining the road.

    The air was strange here; Fukase noticed this as soon as it regained its bearings.

    More curious than it was scared, it started towards the center of this festivity.

    Shadows danced on the streets while some stood at the sides hoisting lanterns high above their heads. Others tugged along elaborate floats by thick ropes as they spun round and round, shrill flutes piercing the air and paper confetti spilling overhead. Empty stalls advertised items they didn’t stock and shadows bought them with money they didn’t have.

    “You over there, the sir with the fiery head.”

    It took Fukase a minute to realize it was being addressed.

    “Yeah?”

    The voice had come from a dimly lit alleyway, a golden mirror hanging at its end. Fukase couldn’t see who owned it.

    “How would you like to take a look in this mirror,” they asked, “Only five thousand yen.”

    Fukase approached the edge of the alleyway, leaning forward and putting a hand to its chin.

    “Looks to be a fine mirror,” it observed, speaking in that adult voice it sometimes overheard, “Can’t hurt to try it out.”

    The voice seemed to smile. “I knew you had a good eye.” The shadows gathered into a waiting hand, peeling themselves away from the walls.

    From its sleeve, Fukase withdrew an invisible wad of bills, flipping through them and handing it over.

    The shadow took a moment to consider, as if counting through them. “You’re short a thousand.”

    With a sigh, it pulled out another “bill” and offered it to the shadow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to rob me.”

    “I believe that’s my line,” the shadow laughed, parting away a path for Fukase to walk through. “Feel free to take a look now. I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

    It did as it was told but yet again, no matter how close it got, its reflection never appeared in the mirror’s surface.

    But as if it’s done this all its life, Fukase stretched out a hand, pressing its fingertips upon the cool glass.

    The world exploded into a flash of white light and then there was nothing.

 

    When it awoke, it was greeted by a muted red sky framed by the dark rooftops of countless buildings.

    Sitting up, it scanned its surroundings; it was in another alleyway, however, now it seemed more of a maze, with not just one but several paths snaking out from every which way as far as the eye could see. Where it had woken up in particular was a dead end, blocked by a wall with the mirror hanging intact.

    This time, it could see its reflection.

    An unfamiliar face greeted Fukase—not that it didn’t know it, but it felt it was foreign. They hadn’t met enough times.

    Seeing its face, it was reminded of the monsters in stories told to children, red eyes, a terrible face—its entire left side was a burn healed wrong, the skin wrinkling and gray. It understood then why people didn’t like it.

    Continuing to stare at its reflection made it feel unpleasant, so it focused its attention on the maze.

    Taking one step forward, the tile in the path dropped and the maze warped, shifting and changing until it wasn’t the same.

    “This might be more difficult than I thought,” it muttered, removing its foot from the tile and searching for clues.

    It took Fukase a while to figure it out, the hint having been hidden in one of the pathways. It realized the tiles that changed the maze were always the same and avoided them, eventually coming to a fork in the road leading to a couple of invisible children playing jump rope.

    “Two, four, six, eight. Eight, six, four, two.”

    When they noticed its presence, they stopped, the center of the rope dropping while its ends remained suspended in air by an unseen grasp.

    Once more, they repeated themselves, though they no longer played and went silent. Fukase felt their stares.

    There were around ten tiles that could shift the maze. In the order the hint had given, the paths eventually warped into one, ending at a floating set of double doors.

    They opened on their own as Fukase approached, displaying a gaping emptiness inside. It studied it, sticking a hand into the space and waiting to see if anything would happen.

    With little difficulty, it could take it back out.

    It was safe enough; it stepped inside.

    When it passed through, it was struck with dozens of emotions, the unfamiliarity of them all making it stumble to its knees.

    The darkness melted away into another area but it didn’t notice, a hand clenched over its heart.

    It hurt and it hurt and it didn’t understand why. Was that door unsafe after all and now it was going to die? Was this what humans called a “heart attack”? There were no names to these emotions, none that it could attach; it could only recognize that they were feelings that hurt and hurt.

    And there was another feeling, a sensation, the feeling of something wet sliding down its cheek. This brought it back to its senses and it rubbed at its eye, bewildered.

    Water? Its eye was leaking water the way humans did when they were sad. Was this sadness? What was it sad about then?

    Slowly, it rose to its feet, sniffling (Interestingly enough, it found that the nose starts running soon after the eyes).

    The room was dim, flames lining the halls and licking at the ceiling. The gray paints were peeling away and the boards on the floor groaned with each and every step.

    At the end was a door, abandoned and alone, looking as if it hadn’t been touched in years.

    As Fukase walked, the flames seemed to whisper to it.

    “Why are you here,” they asked. “Do you even know?”

    Because it knew humans got mad whenever someone ignored them, it answered:

    “Nope.”

    It thought it heard them snicker as it walked by, edging closer and closer to the end of the hall.

    This door didn’t open on its own the way the other did. In fact, it was jammed.

    Holding down on the handle, it leaned into the door with its shoulder and pushed with all its might, feet digging into the floor. It protested against its weight, wood crackling and groaning until finally, it swung open.

    The suddenness of it jerked Fukase forward, nearly sending it tumbling into the dark room.

    Recomposing itself, it stood.

    Peering through the door, the light was swallowed inside but cloaked in the darkness it could make out the outline of a small figure crouched on the ground, back against the wall and arms locked around their knees.

    “…Why are you here?” Quiet and broken, Ai’s voice drifted from the room.

    “I got lost,” Fukase said. It didn’t attempt to enter the room; something told it that it shouldn’t. “What are you doing here?”

    There was silence and the shifting of feet as Ai knocked her knees together.

    “I’m sad,” she said, “And when I was sad I used to always hide in the closet. And then brother would come find me and wouldn’t leave me alone ‘til I laughed.” Her movements stilled.

    “I don’t remember how I became dead. Sometimes I wonder about that. I wonder if it was painful.”

    After that, she went quiet.

    “I hope brother comes soon. I want him to see me and make me laugh—and I wanna tell him I’m sorry.”

    Quietly, her figure melted into the darkness and disappeared.

    There was nothing more to be said; Fukase left, leaving the door open—there wasn't one to close anymore.

    The hallway it walked through was as still as a graveyard. The flames no longer spoke, licking at the air in their shared silence.

 

    As it turned out, it didn’t need to go through that hell of a maze again. The doors it had passed through to return sent it straight to its beginning, to the dead end with the mirror.

    Coming face to face with its reflection, they studied one another. When it moved left, so did its reflection. When it moved right, so did it.

    What did it look like when it was crying? Could a reflection do that too?

    It concentrated as hard as it could on crying, staring at its eyes and waiting for something to happen.

    But no water came and it was starting to feel sick so it gave up, going to press the palm of its hand on the mirror’s surface.

    This time, it was conscious as it was pulled through, the coldness spreading from where its fingers touched all through its body. It left the strange world behind, reappearing at the site of the festival. The flames of passion seemed to glow even brighter than before, the music playing at an intense pace and the disembodied shouts of people echoing. If Fukase stared at the dancing shadows long enough, sometimes it could see a red face carved in their heads, eyes pushed into upside-down crescents and grins cutting themselves beneath.

    ‘It’s good that they’re having a good time,’ it thought as it focused its energy on finding the way back to the human world.

    As the festival grew distant and the lights dimmer, it reached the end of the world.

    The ground it was walking on faded into darkness and nothing but a wall of black stood in its way.

    “How am I gonna get outta here,” it muttered, eyes darting around as it backed away from the edge.

    There was a faint squeak from somewhere behind.

    Turning towards the sound, it was rewarded by the sight of a strange creature.

    They were extremely small, able to go up to just above its ankle if they stood side by side. Their arms and legs were nothing but white stumps and the size of their pudgy body was challenged only by their head, beady black eyes blinking and lips positioned in an odd pout.

    “Oh, it’s another one,” they said, their lips twitching as they spoke and hobbled towards Fukase, their feet squeaking with every step. “Who’re you?”

    “Fukase.”

    “And do you know what you are?"

    It didn’t answer.

    The creature sighed. “Guys like you are popping up all over the place too fast to keep up with and look where we are now--a bunch of clueless folks with personalities as stiff as boards."

    Fukase felt a sharp prick in its chest and it frowned.

    “Anyway, name’s Point. Don’t forget it now, you’re gonna be seeing my mug for a while.”

    The little guy paced back and forth, although they never took their eyes off of it. Fukase wasn’t sure if it liked the way it was being studied much.

    “So Fukase, I might as well POINT something out to you. Did’ja have any connection to the creator of this place?”

    Ai briefly flashed in its mind so it answered, “I think so.”

    “You know she’s dead right?”

    “Yes.”

    “Alright, at least you know that much. So, listen carefully here, you’re gonna have to give her a hand.”

   "How?”

    Point stamped their foot. “If you’d quit your yapping then maybe I’d get to telling!”

    It was quiet after that.

    "Has she told you anything yet? Anything about what she wants, any regrets?” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “Here’s the deal, you and I are something called Spirit Unravelers and it’s our job to help spirits HOPEFULLY before they corrupt. And, mind you, if I were grading you on your performance so far, kid, I’d say you’d get a zero on this part. You gotta clean up your own mess but, hey, I make a POINT of being nice to newbies so I’ll give you a hand.”

    “You don’t have any hands to give though,” Fukase pointed out.

    Point paused, glanced down at their stubby excuses for arms, and laughed. “I’m liking you already. We’re gonna get along great.” Fukase didn’t understand why they were laughing; it wasn’t joking.

    “Get this though, to help your friend there, you gotta help her fulfill her regrets, or at least let her feel satisfied with passing o—HEY I WASN’T FINISHED TALKING YET.”

    Fukase had gone back to observing the wall of black. Hobbling over, Point scuttled up its coat and tugged its hair. “You listening??”

    Backing away, Fukase paused, crouched down, and broke into a sprint. Point shrieked as they clung to its collar for dear life.

    They were cut off as the wall shattered.

 

    “Oi, gaijin, are you alright? You can’t be sleeping here.”

    It was too painful to move so Fukase remained where it was, barely conscious. A whine started from its throat at the poke against its back stirring it awake. Squinting its eyes open, it painstakingly pushed itself off of the ground, easing into a kneeling position with a few cracks of the joints.

    The man dropped the stick he was holding, immediately scrambling away and blasting down the street, shouting something unintelligible.

    “Ho—that doesn’t look good,” Point commented, “I couldn’t hear the guy all too clear but it probably means ‘get out of here’ for us.” Fukase glanced at its pouch to see Point’s big head sticking out of its opening. “And next time don’t break your way out of a closed space. You’re not human but you still got a physical body.”

    Trying to haul itself to its feet, Fukase gritted its teeth, faltering once and catching its breath.

    “Easy there pal, don’t hurt yourself. Your body's been worked enough. It's lucky you didn’t end up worse.”

    “Can’t—“ it rasped between its labored breathing. It vaguely felt Point rummaging through its pouch.

    “Take this.” A stick-like object was jabbed in its shoulder. Doing as it was told, it recognized it as its cane. Until this point, Fukase hadn’t realized its usefulness.

    Leaning on it for support, it let its eyes survey the area.

    This was the street it had disappeared on. Even in the daytime, it was nearly deserted, unless the people were hiding away from it.

    It needed to get back to the shrine before it could be spotted again; it couldn’t run like this.

    One step at a time, it moved in the shrine's general direction but Point quickly disagreed.

    Hopping out of its pouch, they plopped onto the ground and scurried around the road, frantically looking through the empty buildings.

    Finding a broken window, they hurried onto the windowsill and through the hole, disappeared a moment, and reappeared in the now-opened doorway. “Over here.”

    It was a struggle, but it managed to drag itself over there, crumpling to the floor the second it set foot inside. Its hand still clutched the cane.

    Point shut the door and hurried over, resting a stubby arm against its forehead.

    “Doesn’t look like you’re sick but you’re not in safe waters yet.”

    “S-Shouta.”

    “Whazzat?”

    It tried again, frustrated and not understanding why it was struggling, raising its voice. “I need…She needs…” Fukase shut its eyes as Point removed his arm and its bangs fell back in place.

    “Fukase, you can’t just hang up on me like that.”

    “Her brother,” it mumbled, clinging to its last shreds of consciousness. “Tsukuyomi Shouta.” Losing its grip, it slipped away, drifting back into sleep.

 

* * *

 

    An empty darkness.

    Bodies and faces were staring, staring, looking at it with bloody eyes—tired, worn eyes.

    Why didn’t you help us?

    I can’t feel anything anymore.

    Their pulsing and convulsing forms converged into one: a boy with black hair, a burn torn into the flesh spoke without sound, and shattered.

 

* * *

 

    It awoke, staring at the ceiling, the faces of Point and another lining its vision.

   “About time you woke up,” Point piped up, going to tug its arm, “We better get moving, if you care about what happens to Ai anyway."

    It sat upright, blinking at Point.

    “You know Ai?”

    “Shouta here told me all about her.”

    Fukase looked to Shouta, who met its gaze, huffed, then turned away.

    “I’m only doing this for Ai,” he said, hunching his shoulders.

     It said nothing, raising itself from the floor and staring down at the boy. “Let’s go.”

    It rolled its shoulders on its way to the entrance of the abandoned building, checking for any pain—there was none. It felt better about that, but wrote a mental note to never break through a barrier again. Based on what Point said, the results were unpredictable.

    Once again, the day had become night and the streets were silent. There was the distant sound of cicadas chirping at their loudest and a warm breeze that blew by.

    Making sure that Shouta would follow suit, it stepped outside, heading for where it had found that closed space.

    Yan-chan wasn’t there anymore but the air retained a certain strangeness to it.

    Motioning for him to come over, it pointed at the alleyway.

    Shouta looked from Fukase, to its finger, to the alleyway, then back to Fukase. “I don’t get it.”

    “Here,” Fukase said.

    “ _Go_ here?”

    It shook its head. “Probably a bad idea.” This earned it a confused “Huh?” as it retrieved its cane from its pouch and offered the footed end of it. “Hold on.”

    Shouta squinted. “Okay…but why. I know I’m a kid but I’m not that little.”

    The redhead opened its mouth to speak, stopped, then shrugged. “Thought it’d be cooler than having to hold my fingered appendage. Unless you _wanna_ hold it but you better pick one, trust me.”

    The boy considered this, albeit skeptically, going to grasp the cane. “I still don’t trust you, thief.”

    “Fukase,” it corrected, walking towards the alleyway and pulling Shouta along. “That’s the word I attached to myself. If you still wanna call me thief though I won’t stop you.”

    The world wavered and distorted again, shifting and coloring into the spirit world. Fukase was still standing when the ground balanced out but Shouta was on his knees clutching his end of the cane so tight his knuckles went white.

    As Shouta came to realize they weren’t shifting around anymore, he trembled to his feet. His face was as white as a bedsheet and Fukase told him so.

    “Shut up,” Shouta grumbled, shoving against the cane.

    Nothing changed from the last time Fukase was there, the dancers dancing in their proper places and floats twirling as they pleased. It took Fukase a bit to notice Shouta wasn’t behind it anymore.

    Retracing its steps, it found Shouta gazing at one of the floats, decorated with glowing lanterns and twinkling lights. This was one of the few that weren’t spinning.

    It tapped his shoulder. “We should get going.”

    “I know but…” Shouta hesitated, letting his words unravel into thin air. Then he picked up where he left off.

    “Ai really liked festivals. She’d always beg me to get her shaved ice or takoyaki. Candy apples too, if I had enough money.”

    His eyes glazed over as the memory seized him. “She disappeared on the second night of the summer festival. She asked me if she could go buy something by herself and that she’d be back in a minute so I let her. I took my eyes off of her for one second and suddenly I couldn’t find her anymore.” As if remembering, the fingers of his right hand twitched.

    “They found her body in an alleyway two days later. I don’t know who did it or why she had to die, but all I ever think about now is if only I had never let go of her hand.”

 

    The mirror was waiting where it was earlier in the dark alleyway. As Fukase approached it, Shouta’s footsteps stopped.

    Turning around, it cocked its head.

    “Something wrong?”

    The boy seemed awfully interested in his own shoes, with how his eyes were so fixated on them.

    “If you’re saving Ai,” he mumbled, “Then you must’ve known her after all.”

    “Yeah.”

    He raised his eyes. “...Did you treat her nice?”

    Something in his face struck a chord in Fukase.

    “Yes.”

    His eyes watered up in an instant and he hid them behind his arm, the tears spilling over. “I’m glad.”

    This puzzled Fukase, watching him cry the way it did when it had been struck with all those emotions earlier.

    “Sad?” it asked.

    Sniffling, Shouta shook his head. “Ai never talked to anyone but me. Her classmates would tease her and she’d come home with bruises and wouldn’t say nothing about them even when I asked.”

    Studying the boy, Fukase realized it couldn’t understand humans. Why would you cry when you were happy? Why could one action mean so many things and how could you tell what it's supposed to mean when?

    Carefully approaching him, it reached out to pat his shoulder.

    “I’m sorry for calling you a thief,” he said, his gaze downcast, “I’m sorry for not believing you. Thanks for taking care of my sister.”

    Fukase looked to Shouta, analyzing his expression.

    “You’re welcome,” was all it said.

    Just before they passed through the mirror, something strange caught its eye.

    Not even Shouta had a reflection.

 

    The two landed in the maze of alleyways with the reward for its solution still patiently waiting at the end.

    Starting down the path, there was a loud crack. The pair flinched and spun to the mirror.

    Cracks webbed across its reflective surface, blood oozing out and pooling on the floor.

    When Fukase felt its remains, no energy flowed through its hands; it was ruined.

    “Does this mean we can’t go back?” Shouta asked. Fukase turned to him.

    “I dunno, I’d have to ask Point about th—“

    It froze. Shouta narrowed his eyes. “You forgot him.”

    Coughing into its hand, it stared far off into the distance. “He was a brave soldier.”

    “You’re the worst.”

    Fukase grinned and stuck out its tongue. “Only the best kind of worst.” With that, it marched ahead.

    Passing through the door the second time was a wholly different experience than the first, the emotion coming across as almost pleasant. No water leaked from its eyes and its heart was unscathed.

    The flames along the halls of this new area whispered as they had before, although of a different subject.

    “Is that really him?” they said in hushed tones, “It can’t be him.” Whisper whisper.

    Since there was no longer any door at the end of the hallway, the empty darkness inside was exposed for all to see.

    Fukase fell back while Shouta stepped under the threshold.

    “Ai?” he asked.

    There was a delay but a feeble voice broke the quiet.

    “Brother? Is that you?”

    “What are you doing in such a dark place? Don’t make me come in there and get you, I can’t tell my mom that my little sister’s been eaten by youkai.”

    There was no answer so Shouta took a step inside.

    At once, the darkness gathered into a small figure, a warm light filling the room as Ai materialized from the cluster.

    As soon as she opened her eyes, they welled up with tears, a small whine starting up as she ran forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. Every time she tried to speak, she was rattled with a sob or a hiccup.

    “I missed you too, Ai.”

    “I’m sorry,” she managed, her voice cracking as she hiccupped, “I let go of your hand.”

    Shouta’s eyes widened for just a moment before they softened with a quiet determination.

    “It’s okay. It’ll be okay Ai. _I_ won’t let it go again, promise.”

 

    Fukase sat with its back against the wall near the alleyway where Yan-chan had first appeared.

    “For a newbie, you did a good job. I oughta congratulate you there.”

    It lowered its gaze to Point who stood before it.

    “Hello.” It was too drained to say more.

    “Cheer up kiddo, you helped your first spirit! I wanted to see how much you could do on your own before I had to step in to give you a hand. Turns out, you didn’t need it! So what happened to that Shouta kid? He shoulda been with you.’

    Albeit reluctantly, it answered: “He disappeared with Ai.” The words made it feel heavy.

    “Oh, so he must’ve chosen to stay with her. All’s well that ends well I guess you can say, oho!”

    “He wasn’t trapped there?” The collapse of the spirit world had been so sudden; it couldn’t remember what it did to get out.

    “Nah, if he wasn’t killed by her, his soul can’t be trapped there. And when spirit worlds collapse, they eject whoever isn’t bound there back to the human world. The kid made his choice in staying so, again, all’s well that ends well.”

    Fukase was silent for a moment before it smiled, faintly. “I’m glad.”

    Bringing itself to its feet, it headed to its usual shrine, Point scrambling close behind.

   

    Rumors passed around the town fast, speculating on where Tsukuyomi Shouta must’ve gone and if he will turn out like his sister.

    “Their poor mother,” Fukase had overheard one lady gasp with shining eyes, a hand on her cheek. “I hear she’s absolutely heartbroken.”

    It didn’t take long for the townspeople to start connecting the disappearance with the “monster that lurked in the late hours of the night”. Point advised Fukase to leave the town and go elsewhere.

    The night before it left, it paid one last visit to the graveyard.

    The gravestone somehow didn’t seem as sad and lonesome as before. Fukase ran its fingers along the kanji spelling out Tsukuyomi Ai’s name.

    “Rest in peace,” it said. It set two paper-wrapped manjuus down in front of the grave, placing a red spider lily beside each one. The color was vibrant and alive even in the shadow cast by the night. When morning came, the townspeople could only wonder who left them there.


End file.
